Sand, Sun, Sea
Things have gotten so quiet and simple. Canvas dipped in the Gulf and laid out on the sand to work.
Work, read, film, walk.
Boat ride to the mainland. Boat ride back.
An outdoor shower, dogs, sunset.
Sand, Sun, Sea.
All of a piece, no separation.
The Intimacy of the Present Moment, and Painting
Meditation is at the very core of my work. I don't use mantras or much breath work or lotus positions, but rather sit comfortably and quietly, resting in the rich experience of what is happening at that very moment. It's truly resting; there is nothing to do, to work on, to adjust, except noticing and being totally and completely present and aware. Thoughts don't stop, but they are noticed as thoughts and the attention remains on the razor's edge of the moment. In a sense, Jane disappears, the experience of the world comes to the forefront. While it may sound detached, it's a very intimate experience.
Years ago I created a conceptual video to describe the process, here's the short version, and while all is pretty quiet, the music reflects the drama of one's thoughts:
My view is, most of humanity has evolved increasingly towards using our thoughts to interpret the world, which is quite useful at times but has robbed us of our actual, lived experience. Mostly we experience the world by how we think about it. For the kind of painting I do, engaging in a fixed mental state is not conducive to the flow of creativity. Surely thinking and analysis is useful along the way, but not useful as the energy that springs into motion and begins creativity. I'm interested in reflecting that felt sense of the world, and to do so, all of me must be connected to everything around and inside of me.
Photo credit, Julie Denesha
So I sit, sometimes before beginning to work, more usually in the midst of a painting flurry, when thoughts take over, to stop and settle and reconnect with what is being experienced. Tuning in to what is felt, heard, being fully aware, using this beautiful instrument of the human body to open up to the surrounding environment, and to the universe.
To me, this is not woo-woo, it's "not out there" in any way, it's what is real. It's extremely intimate. Therefore while the paintings become public, they come from my deepest experiences, appearing on canvas in the most honest way I can muster. They are a window into this being's experience of the world.
The Island, and the Natural State
I’m living and working on an island off the gulf coast of Florida, unconnected to land by even a bridge..
We come here in January when it can be stormy and cold, very raw, and hardly anyone else is here.
There’s electricity and water on this laid back beach house with few amenities, and minimal cell coverage. There’s nothing for sale on the island, not even a cup of coffee.
It takes a lot to get settled into this small home on stilts, bringing by boat 3 dogs and enough groceries and batteries and jackets and books and painting supplies to last a few weeks.
Our beloved goddaughter is always our only visitor, and stays for a week. We celebrate our twin birthdays, fish, read tarot cards, explore matters of the heart, and all things creative.
When she leaves, I get very quiet. It's an island retreat.
I’ve set up a studio in the sand under this house-on-stilts, a table made from stray wood planks, a water hose and a clothesline set up to hang wet canvases.
I’m rereading Anne Morrow Lindberg’s book “A Gift from the Sea”, published in 1955, written when she lived alone on a very primitive island off the Florida coast for two weeks, leaving her husband and five children at home. She writes: “How wonderful are islands!.... an island from the world and the world’s life….The past and the future are cut off; only the present remains. Existence in the present gives island living an extreme vividness and purity. One lives like a child or a saint in the immediacy of here and now. Every day, every act, is an island, washed by time and space, and has an island’s completion.”
Photo credit: EJ Rost
I'm keenly interested right now in what I'd call the natural state, sometimes called a state of grace, which is nurtured by being on this island. I'm giving my all to peel away the layers that allow this to be seen, felt, lived. Not some ethereal idea of grace, but actually moving through one’s world with ease, something from deep inside. I realized early on that it’s vital for my work as a painter, but what's experienced from living in this state goes far beyond that. This is a decades long focus, but recently I've been laser focused on it. It feels urgent.
This idea of a state of grace showed up in Lindberg’s book last night, as she writes of her wish to fulfill her obligations: “But I want first of all—in fact, as an end to these other desires—to be at peace with myself. I want a singleness of eye, a purity of intention, a central core to my life that will enable me to carry out these obligations and activities as well as I can. I want, in fact—to borrow from the language of the saints—to live “in grace” as much of the time as possible. I am not using this term in a strictly theological sense. By grace I mean an inner harmony, essentially spiritual, which can be translated into outward harmony. I am seeking perhaps what Socrates asked for in the prayer from the Phaedrus when he said, “May the outward and inward man be at one.” I would like to achieve a state of inner spiritual grace from which I could function and give as I was meant to in the eye of God.”.
There's nothing new in her words, many have written about this, but right now I feel this deeply. Isn't this what we all long for?
For me, it takes a long time on this island to settle into what Lindberg is describing. I tend to work very hard through the year, obsessively, both mentally and physically. I can run myself to complete exhaustion, with nothing left to offer. This happened in 2018, and by the end of the year, my well was dry. When I got here this year, the marionette strings that animate me through the year, are still pulling arms legs and mind. It’s stunning to see how contracted and incessant my inner world shows itself to be, and what a stark contrast to living on this quiet island that has little else on it but sea, sand and birds.
But now, and at last, the surf is taking me, through sound and osmosis. It's allowing me to join a different pace, tune in to the wind, the pelicans, the never-ending crashing of waves, the sand that settles into everything, the brilliant evening sky that glows for an entire hour after sunset. From this calm and conscious place in one's being, is the very richest place to create, to work, coming from pure source.
From this place, expression simply happens, as Lindberg describes "....and give as I was meant to in the eye of God.”. The hand picks up a pencil, or a camera, or a bunch of lumber from a dumpster, to assemble, draw, photograph, write. It's so interesting to work from this balanced place, there’s no concern or idea of error. What is beautiful remains, what is awkward is simply smoothed into another shape, or obscured by a wash, easy as a river flows, with no burden of right or wrong.
I've slowed this movie down to see the sea's movement.
Certainly all of us know what it's like to solve creative problems from this open, expansive state of grace. Not just those of us involved with the arts, but most everyone who is putting together a project, developing plans or solving problems with a customer, a child, a loved one, have experienced this ease of creative movement when in a state of grace.
This long time spent here allows the well to fill up, entirely, and nourishes my work/me through the year. At last, my mind and body settle, not moving from one activity to the next, not anxiously needing to paint, to express, not trying to be productive, but to live and breathe and if it's offered, to paint.
My Beloved Mentor
Along the way, I was lucky to find an extraordinary painting mentor, Philomene Bennett. She encouraged me to do what felt most authentic, allowing me to push past my own confines and delve into what felt most true and aligned.
Early on when attending her studio class, I was working on a large painting that was getting worse and worse the more I worked on it. Something welled up in me and I slightly mixed magenta and pyrrole red oils, stuck a big brush in it and drug it across the middle of the buttery wet canvas in a sort of thrilling rebuttal.
Philomene said JANE, that magenta LINE! Do you see that line??? It is extraordinary, can you SEE what just happened?
I said What what? You mean I can do THAT (that intuitive movement that wasn't analytical, that was so juicy and real and impassioned)??
Right then, somehow, she had knocked a hole in the dam of restraint that was keeping me from developing a more truthful and intuitive way of working. With that line, with that comment and discovery, my work began to become an extension of me, flowing from and beyond me, through a larger dimension. That one day changed my life, entirely. I began to paint with fervor; painting became akin to air and food and love.
Many years later, our teacher/student relationship has become a treasured friendship. Recently I dragged an old, shot-full-of-holes Oliver combine into the field by the studio to create a painted sculpture, and invited Philomene to come over and work on it with me. I had a bag full of spray paint and Philomene brought a bag full of Burger King breakfast biscuits, and she sat on the golf cart sipping coffee, offering thoughts and pointers. As she would speak, I could feel what she was going to say, sort of like lifelong canoeing partners who knew how each others paddles were going to strike the water and which way they were steering the canoe. In perfect unison, with me running the spray paint and her long jeweled finger pointing this way and that, occasionally an uh huh or OH, we worked on the combine nearly wordlessly, some kind of energetic communication flowing between us. It was a heavenly experience.
Recently, I kidnapped Philomene and brought her to the studio to share some wine and look at art. When she looks at art, she settles in quietly, taking some time to really wholly look, reading it carefully from side to side, up and down until she really sees it. From this place, speaking philosophically, musing about distances and pull and feeling and place and memory and what's in front and what's the atmosphere, and from her few studied comments, her words acting like the strike of a match to a fuse, allow me to hear deeply and translate for my own, and with a few washes and marks, the paintings came into wholeness. I captured some of it on a time lapse camera:
Of all the teachers in all of the world, I happened to run into Philomene. I am deeply, profoundly grateful.
Easing Back Into the Studio
This past month has been heavy with sales, inventory and installations.As usual after not painting for awhile, it takes some time to clear my head, relax, open up my senses and be able to work. First, it's time to sweep the large floor, open the doors, take in the landscape, make a pot of tea. Maybe read a little something beautiful, listen to some soul piercing music. Untangle.
The Studio Opening 2017
The official studio opening celebration was the first Saturday in September, in the peak of sunflower and zinnia season. 200 people parked in the meadow and walked up the hill to the show, which spilled out of the studio onto two painting patios. Paintings were hung on the outside walls of the studio as well as inside.
There were lots of bouquets.
The people who came out were talking about art, I loved that most of all. It was a lovely group of people.
Sunset was beautiful from both sides. A painting was hanging on the lightening struck tree..
The nearly full moon....
These two pieces that were displayed from the After Dark series, spanned 24'. They are my most recent paintings. On the left is "After Dark - In Spirit" and on the right, "After Dark - In Body"..
Then it was after dark, and the party was over.
Thanks to many friends for the photos!
Photographing Art
Photography Day
I used to try to photograph my own work using a good camera and lighting, but the images were never as alive, the colors never balanced as a professional photograph, and the large scale of my work added to the complexities. How can I expect someone to select work off of the internet without a near perfect reproduction of the painting?
It takes this team: A steadfast and cheerful studio assistant and I measure, title and pin the canvases perfectly smoothly to the wall. Kansas City's premier art photographer, E.G. Schempf, brings massive high quality equipment, sets up, shoots, color corrects. Another professional photographer joins us out of kindness, friendship and a greatly appreciated fine eye for color balance, and assists in every step.
I sometimes am working just ahead of the photograph, with a paint brush or spray can, tweaking the painting before it's frozen (snapped) in time.
Immediately after photographing, each painting is color corrected. This involves commitments by each of us (four) individuals dedicated to accuracy in color, tint, contrast and clarity, to truthfully represent the work's luminescence, intensity, saturation, depth, brilliance, muddiness, agitation, peacefulness. Sometimes it takes over an hour to get a heavily pigmented painting to come into color balance.
All specs are then put into virtual and physical inventories.
The above 1 minute video covers a 7.5 hour shoot for 10 paintings.
Music: James Cotton with Joe Louis Walker & Charlie Haden playing Vineyard Blues.
Note: 2 of the last 3 paintings are vertical; we always shoot horizontally.
Waiting for Inspiration
Sometimes I'll hit the studio full of ideas and energy and exhilarated to be able to paint, and nothing happens. I can pick up some tools and begin to work, but it's obvious before the first brushstroke, that it isn't going to work. Where does inspiration go? Sometimes you have to wait around for it.
Reclaiming Space and Form
After a long period of photographing completed paintings, preparing for shipment, inventory and buying materials, it is at last time to reclaim space and form, and begin to paint again.
Music by Taj Mahal - M'Banjo
Immersion - Working Into the Night
I'm working on large scale narratives, and immersed in the studio, always alone, keeping focused. Language is uttered in color and mark. The large scale work is exciting, being much larger than I am, and the physicality of harmonizing the painting by moving from one end to the other makes it feel like we are one.
Often I'll shoot videos to watch the progress, slowing them down to see if I am leaving a better painting under the one that it becomes. Strangely, being shot as time lapse, it feels impersonal, and I'm comfortable posting the process.
This one tracks the sun lowering in the sky and eventually darkening into night. If I have enough snacks and water, there is no sense of early or late; as long as the energy is flowing, the work does too.
Beginning Again
Projects have been completed and shipped or put away, the studio is swept clean and there are blank canvases on the floor. The light is beautiful, a large flock of bluebirds who are wintering here dot the hedge tree just outside the studio's glass door. There's a sense of spaciousness internally and externally. It is time to begin again.
Out With the Old
I use about 150 pairs of rubber gloves a month for painting. Gathering them up, sweeping the floors, rolling out new raw canvases, helped to make January 1st feel deliciously fresh and clean. There's nothing on the calendar for 9 days except painting.
Prairie and Painting, a Process View
Working on our land and working in the studio seem to me to be two sides of the same coin. Both are connections to nature, rooted deeply in earth and sky, both feed the soul, one reflects the other reflects the other.
This week we burned the prairie, and while it'll remain charred all winter, in the spring, the wildflowers and native tall grasses will flourish. The painting that arose from the experience carries the feeling of the day.
Upon Awakening
Upon awakening, there was a sudden and urgent need to paint something fresh and innocent, and hang it in the living room.
Unstretching, and Stretching Canvases
Extra large paintings are hard to stretch. My studio assistant is small and mighty, and stretched these three jumbo paintings using a ladder and brains.
(Re)Working Large
I fastened together a group of old canvases with an acrylic gel medium to form two gargantuan canvases, and began pouring paint into them outside on a concrete pad, then hauled them in and pinned to the wall. Some of these repurposed canvases date back to my beginnings as a painter, so I've titled the piece "My Life So Far" and am working on it freely, no mind for selling, just for exploration and discovery.
Sky
I watched the sky through long afternoons this summer while recovering from an injury. Sometimes tall billowy thunderheads built up in the indigo blues of midwestern July skies, sometimes it was deep blue and crystal clear, sometimes wafer thin sheets soundlessly skated across the high sky from one horizon to the other.
This long recovery became transformative, spacious, deeply informative as to the ever-changing nature of the world.
The first day that I was able to pick up a canvas and a bucket of water, I began these paintings outdoors, under blue skies and high clouds. So close was the experience to the work, the paint seemed to mix itself to deep indigo, the paintings seemed to appear as I observed.
Sky - Noctilucence 64x56
Sky - Water 66x84
Sky - Polar Clouds 66x84
Sky - Night Shining 64x56
The series is titled "Sky", and references noctilucent clouds, which are polar clouds in the upper atmosphere, visible in a deep twilight. They are made of ice crystals. Noctilucent roughly means night shining in Latin.
Modern interior in minimalism style 3D rendering
Back to Tree Skeletons and Monotones
It's shocking to be back in the Midwest. The north wind blows through wool layers, the trees are bare and there are only the palest hues. There's been one hoary frost, that reminds me of winter's beauty.
Usually cold weather elicits a warm palette in the studio for balance, but right now, maybe just in the transition, it feels insincere. The monotones are reflected in the studio.
A trip to the Bloch Building at the Nelson-Atkins Museum, offered a quick transformation. Walking into the building is to be enveloped within a many hued white sculpture. As always, spending time in front of William Baziotes' Crescent, reaches deeply into the warmth of being. The tag describing it, is pure nourishment for a cold February day. https://art.nelson-atkins.org/objects/4685/crescent ,
The next morning, a little shadow and light feels like a visual ballet.
The beach is the barest memory...